Deborah Chester: How to Structure a Scene

I’ve been reading Deborah Chester’s excellent book on Story Structure: The Fantasy Fiction Formula.

Have you ever read any of the books in Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files series? Butcher’s books usually find their way to the number one position on the New York Times Bestsellers list. Well, Deborah Chester was Jim Butcher’s writing mentor. Butcher wrote the first book in his series, Storm Front, while he was taking a class from her, a book he also dedicated to her.

Butcher also wrote the forward for Chester’s book:

“So, aspiring writer, let me do you the favor I wish someone had done me. Let me tell you what you need to hear.

“Shut up and do what Debbie tells you to do.
….
“Who am I to tell you that?

“I’m the guy who took the principles of story structure which she taught me and built a career on them. As I type this, I have published twenty-four novels, the last five of them #1 New York Times bestsellers. …

“And to this day, I still occasionally refer to my notes, taken in her classroom at the University of Oklahoma …” (The Fantasy Fiction Formula, Deborah Chester; Foreword by Jim Butcher)

Also, as Jim Butcher mentioned elsewhere in his foreword, Deborah Chester has also published 40 novels of her own.

What are stories?

I write popular fiction so that’s the sort of story I’m talking about here. The overwhelming majority of popular novels have the kind of structure I’m going to talk about. Why? Because it works. People find books with this structure difficult to put down.

What’s the secret to writing an immersive story?

Stories are made up of Scenes and Sequels. In this post I’m going to concentrate on scenes, I’ll talk about sequels in another post. My apologies in advance for the point form of this post, but there’s SO MUCH information to communicate that I can’t spend very much time on any one point.

What are scenes?

Scenes are the basic units of fiction.

Deborah Chester writes, “If a scene’s going to succeed, it’s because it serves up a CLEAR GOAL, STRONG STAKES, and INTENSE CONFLICT.” [emphasis mine]

In a scene, the protagonist confronts the antagonist in disagreement over a specific, concrete, objective.

What is the function of a scene?

Scenes:

- Push a story forward.
- Reveal character.
- Raise the stakes.
- Intensify suspense.
- Produce consequences later in the story, consequences that are related to the story goal.

What are the elements of a scene?

There are three main parts to a scene:

a. Every scene begins with a goal.
b. Every scene has conflict.
c. Every scene ends in a resolution.

Let’s look at each of these in turn.

a. Every scene begins with a goal

In the beginning of every scene the reader needs to know three things:

i) The characters. Who is the protagonist? Who or what is the antagonist?
ii) The setting. Where is the scene taking place? Could the action taking place as easily take place in another setting? If so, perhaps make the setting more relevant to the scene goal.
iii) The mood. Does the mood match the genre? For example, the setting in a horror story doesn’t always have to be dark and spooky, but that would help it cultivate the right mood.

Scene Goal:

The scene goal provides a scene with direction and organization. If you’re not sure what the scene goal is, ask yourself: What is your protagonist trying to do?

EVERYTHING in a scene revolves around the scene goal. Deborah Chester writes: “If a scene doesn’t change the protagonist’s situation, however slightly, or if it has no impact on later story development, cut it.”

A scene doesn’t start until the protagonist either THINKS, STATES or ACTS on a scene goal.

The scene goal needs to be both specific and attainable now.

Stakes:

- For each scene, ask yourself what is at stake?
- Stakes connect to your protagonist and antagonist's motivations.
- The stakes/conflict determine HOW LONG a scene will run.

b. Every scene has conflict.

The conflict is between the protagonist and antagonist.

(a.) Every scene has a protagonist.
(b.) Every scene has an antagonist and the antagonist is usually a person.
(c.) Every protagonist has a clear, concrete, goal for that scene. This goal is distinct from the story goal.
(d.) The protagonist’s scene goal must clearly relate to the story goal.

Kinds of Scene Conflict:

Deborah Chester writes, “There can be no progression of events unless the protagonist hits opposition. The stronger the opposition, the better the story.”

Conflict can be either internal or external.
- Internal conflict comes from either two desires clashing (for instance, a desire to eat chocolate and a desire to lose weight) or from a desire being affected by an event in the external world (for instance, a desire to eat chocolate and aliens coming to Earth and gobbling up every single last piece of chocolate).
- External conflict comes from a clash between two visible, external, events. For instance, if one character says to the other, “Give me all your money” and the other character says, “No!” then we’ve got external conflict. The conflict in a SCENE must be external. (The conflict in a SEQUEL can be internal.)

What conflict must do in a story:

- Conflict must advance the story.
- Conflict creates CHANGE in the protagonist’s situation.
- Conflict raises the stakes.
- Conflict makes the story outcome less certain.
- Conflict heightens suspense. We want readers to worry about how things will turn out for the protagonist.

Deborah Chester notes that there are two kinds of conflict in scenes: SCENE CONFLICT (which I’ve written about, above) and ADVERSITY. While scene conflict is about “two characters in opposition over a clear, specific goal,” adversity is random bad luck. There is a place for random bad luck in a story -- for instance, it can play a role in the protagonist getting into trouble during the beginning -- but only a very small role. The overwhelming majority of the time the conflict is scene conflict.

Conflict types:

Here are the various types of conflict you'll see in a story: Combat, Verbal disagreement, Interrogation, Evasion and Bickering. Deborah Chester goes into each of these in her book, but I will just mention something about bickering: don't let your primary characters bicker. This is fine for secondary characters -- it can help the reader get a peek into their respective characters -- but primary characters need more robust sorts of conflict to act as a crucible.

c. Scene endings: every scene ends in a resolution.

I've gone into this above, but there are certain things that can't be emphasized enough:

- A scene must end in such a way that things are WORSE for the protagonist.
- Solutions are eliminated, options are taken away. At the end of the story the protagonist has no choice but to face the villain in the story’s climax.
- The protagonist’s trouble is increased.
- The stakes are raised.

Note: There should be no narration in a scene!

Deborah Chester writes, “... scenes should end in complete or partial failure for the protagonist.” “You want your readers surprised, astonished, shocked, perhaps even crying.”

Setbacks

Here are some reasons why the protagonist might suffer a loss, a setback:

- The protagonist is outgunned by the antagonist.
- The protagonist is outsmarted by the antagonist.
- The protagonist is outmaneuvered by the antagonist.

Further, the setback the protagonist suffers must be partly because of something about him or her. For example, in The Princess Bride Inigo Montoya loses a fight because he has less experience and skill than the six fingered man. The six fingered man then goes on to murder Inigo's father and steal a sword. In no way is his father's death Inigo's fault -- we do not expect an untrained child to win a dual with the best swordsman in the land.

The pattern of a setback: the possibilities (yes; no; yes but; no and furthermore)

Every scene has a goal. For example, Jane wants to find a way out of the dungeon the villain has trapped her in. That’s the scene goal. Since that’s the goal, the scene question would be: Will Jane find a way out of the dungeon the villain has trapped her in?

(I've written more about this here: Parts of Story: Try-Fail Cycles)

There are four possible try-fail cycles:

i) Yes, Jane will find a way out of the dungeon. (Success)

ii) No, Jane will not find a way out of the dungeon. (Failure)

iii) Yes, Jane will find a way out of the dungeon BUT as she walks toward the human sized crack in the wall she finds herself surrounded by skeletons shrouded in cobwebs.

iv) No, Jane will not find a way out of the dungeon AND FURTHERMORE the air begins to run out and she starts to suffocate.

Cashing out Try-Fail Cycles

The first possibility (Yes) usually doesn’t happen until the last scene … and sometimes not even then! I say usually because you may write one or more scenes from the point of view of the antagonist, in which case he will win the contest between him and the protagonist.

The second possibility (No) also doesn’t occur very often. The protagonist needs to progress, needs to change. Staying the same is boring, and if the protagonist fails to attain her goal, she’s right back where she began.

The third possibility (Yes, but) is the most common outcome. The protagonist will achieve the scene goal (and so she gets stronger, better, she grows as a person), but something will go wrong, something that plunges her into even more danger.

The fourth and last possibility (No, and furthermore) isn’t used often and is best left for major turning points. This scene ending is a disaster for the protagonist.

BTW, there is a fifth version I’ve heard of: No, BUT … Here the protagonist fails to achieve the scene goal but she manages to do something to get her a bit closer to what she wants. For example, Jane will not find a way out of the dungeon BUT she fill find a candle and some matches.

The Sequel: When the scene is over, the protagonist ...

When the scene is over we often have a sequel, but I'm not going to talk about that here,  I'll eventually do another post on it. But, briefly, in a sequel we'll see the protagonist recover, dust himself off, pick up the pieces of his thwarted attempt to do something.

The protagonist will respond emotionally -- we'll see that he's angry. We'll see him vow to do whatever it takes to never let anything like that happen again. Given all this it will seem reasonable for the protagonist to take greater risks to achieve his goal in the next scene.

Protagonist and Antagonist

The scene’s antagonist needs to work in DIRECT OPPOSITION to the scene’s protagonist.

The antagonist doesn’t have to be the story villain, the Big Bad. Of course, it could be! But it might also be a friend, or ally or even the protagonist’s sidekick. For example, the two could disagree on how to achieve a common goal.

In Lord of the Rings Sam and Frodo fought over whether Golem could be trusted. Ask yourself:

- Why does the scene goal matter to the protagonist?
- Why does the scene goal matter to the antagonist?

Explaining the logic of a scene

Allow the protagonist to encounter serious, continually escalating trouble. This ensures that your protagonist is miserable most of the time (I talk about why this is important, below).

Use action/reaction units. Unless you’ve read Bickham or Swain this likely won’t make any sense to you. No worries, I talk more about it, below.

1. Keep your protagonist miserable by continually escalating/intensifying the trouble they get into.

DC writes that you do NOT want your protagonist to be successful or happy. You need them to be:

- Worried
- Stressed
- Suffering

Change is difficult. We don’t want to change. That means we need to force the protagonist (and perhaps her allies) to do things they normally wouldn’t. We need to force them to do things that will make them uncomfortable, that will even terrify them. Why? This is the only way humans can change: by doing what is difficult, by entering the forest where it is darkest, we get stronger (if we survive!)

Think of a blacksmith. Pure iron is stronger than impure iron. How does one get rid of the impurities? They are burned away in a crucible. The hottest fire yields the purest/best product. What is true for iron is also true for our characters, we must put them in a crucible to get rid of their weaknesses, to force them to change and grow.

As Deborah Chester says, “Your protagonist needs to run full-tilt into terrible trouble, fight her way through, and hit worse trouble, fight her way through, and hit worse trouble." And so on.

The protagonist must take risks the other characters won’t. She must stand and face problems to help her friends, or anyone she cares about.

2. The hero must fail.

Before the very end, the villain, the bad guy, will continually outmaneuver the protagonist.

DC writes, “Whatever matters most in the world to her [the protagonist] should be endangered so much that she can’t sit passively, crying and doing nothing. She must take action. She must become -- by stages, and through failures, and as a result of confrontations -- a hero.”

3. Use Action/Reaction Units (A/R Units)

A/R units are all about cause and effect. They have to do with an action and its immediate reaction.

There are two types of units: SIMPLE and COMPLICATED.

3a. Simple A/R unit.

What makes the simple A/R unit simple is that it includes, basically, one sentence (or one clause) that is an external, visible, action. This action is followed immediately by a reaction.

There must not be a gap or interruption between an action and its reaction.

For example: The girl threw a snowball at Mark. Mark ducked.

I’m not saying that's an eloquent example! But you get the idea.

3b. Complicated A/R units.

In a complicated A/R unit at least one of the characters involved in a complex scene won’t be fair or honest. There are two things here:

i) There is what the protagonist and antagonist are saying and doing, their dialogue and actions. (External)
ii) What the protagonist -- the viewpoint character -- is actually thinking and feeling. (Internal)

In other words, there needs to be tension between what the viewpoint character is saying versus what she’s feeling inside.

Here is an example Deborah Chester gave:

"Hello," Michael said.
Screeching, the pixie flew at Michael's face, trying to jab his eye with what looked like a sewing needle.
What the hell? Baffled by the tiny creature's rage, Michael swatted it away. "What's wrong with you?" he shouted.

Chester goes on to say that, "Michael's puzzlement about the pixie's behavior will mirror reader confusion." That's important because if the reader is confused but the character isn't then there's a problem with the writing.

That's it!

What I'm reading:

Last night I stayed up way past my bedtime because I had to finish Orphan X by Gregg Hurwitz. I thought about starting the next book in the Orphan X series, The Nowhere Man -- I know I'd love it -- but variety is good. I'm going to start either Lee Child's thriller, Blue Moon, or Midnight Riot by Ben Aaronovitch which is the first book in his Rivers of London series.

What are you reading, I'd love to know! 😀

If you would like to support my blog ...

Every post I pick something I love and recommend it. This serves two purposes. I want to share what I’ve loved with you, and, if you click the link and buy anything over at Amazon within the next 24 hours, Amazon puts a few cents in my tip jar at no cost to you. So, if you click the link, thank you! If not, that’s okay too. I’m thrilled and honored you’ve visited my blog and read my post.

Today (no surprise!) I’m wholeheartedly recommending The Fantasy Fiction Formula, by Deborah Chester.

A Three Act Story Structure: Act Three

Today I continue my series on the Three Act Structure for genre stories. 

First post: A Story Structure in Three Acts

Second post: A Story Structure in Three Acts: Act Two

Third post: A Story Structure In Three Acts: The Second Half of Act Two

In this post I’m going to examine a special kind of Try-Fail Cycle, what I call the All Hope Is Lost Try-Fail Cycle. It begins with the Major Setback, carries us into Act Three and ends with the Story Climax (or Final Conflict). I had hoped to get through the Final Conflict today, but that didn’t happen. I will do that Wednesday.

Act Three: The Rush to the Finish (75%)

Endings are important. It’s said that the first few pages of a story sell that book while the last few pages sell the next book. I believe that.

The ending plays out in Act Three so, ideally, the third act will build the tension of the first two acts into a crescendo of suspense, rushing into The Story Climax, where the Story Question will be decided.

All Hope Is Lost: An Odd Try-Fail Cycle

What I’m calling the All Hope Is Lost Try-Fail Cycle contains three events.

First Time. Often the first try-fail in this threefold cycle is the Major Setback (I talked about the Major Setback in my last post so I won’t go into it again here). 

Second Time. After that devastating, plot-twisting, defeat, the protagonist comes up with a new plan, but this new plan fails as well. 

Third Time (All Hope Is Lost). Undeterred, the protagonist forms a new plan and, though it seems impossible it will succeed, there’s nothing else to try. The stakes, now, are the highest they have ever been and the chance of success the smallest it has ever been. At the end of this sequence the protagonist seems to fail, totally and completely. 

Sometimes (for example, in “Edge of Tomorrow”), this seeming failure lasts only a few seconds and then, immediately following, we get the resolution, the conclusion, of the tale. Other times it is more drawn out. Both kinds of stories, though, usually have the same general structure:

1. (Major Setback) Try --> Obstacle --> Fail 

- Stakes increase.

- Likelihood of success goes down.

2. New Plan --> Try --> Obstacle --> *Fail*

- Stakes increase.

- Likelihood of success goes down.

3. New Plan --> Try --> !!!!!**FAIL**!!!!!

- Stakes turn out to be much bigger than at first thought.

- All Hope is Lost Point: No chance of success whatsoever.

1. The first try-fail sequence

Often the first try-fail is the Major Setback (I talked about the Major Setback in my last post so I won’t go into it again here). 

2. The second try-fail sequence.

After the devastating, plot-twisting, defeat of the Major Setback, the protagonist comes up with a new plan, but the new plan fails.

The consequences of the failure turn out to be very much worse than anyone imagined. The protagonist is unprepared for this and sometimes loses hope. Often an ally or a mentor figure will come onstage and give the protagonist a pep talk. Or perhaps the antagonist will push the protagonist past endurance and she’ll snap only to find a core of strength to her being she never suspected.

3. The third try-fail sequence

The protagonist comes up with another plan but this plan, too, fails, or appears to fail. 

This final try-fail sequence ends with the All Hope Is Lost beat, also known as the Dark Night of the Soul. 

As bad as things seemed at the end of the second sequence, it will turn out that what the protagonist thought was the true bottom—the worst things could possibly get—was only a way-stop on the way to complete and total ruin. 

Now the protagonist is at rock bottom. This is the lowest point of the movie, both for the protagonist and for the story quest as a whole. There is no possibility the protagonist is going to get out of this. No rabbits in this hat. Her quest is over and it’s all her fault. 

The Third Try-Fail Cycle and the Ray of Hope

The trick here is the protagonist’s mindset, what she thinks of as possibilities. A shift now occurs. I’ve said that there was no possibility the protagonist was going to get out of this, but what that means is the protagonist can see no way out of her predicament.

The last stop of her journey from darkness to enlightenment is for the protagonist to make a radical—and much needed—change to her worldview.

This is where all the messy touchy-feely stuff, all the character building, the talk of internal goals, scars, and so on, comes into play.

Also, though I haven’t mentioned it (I’ve only been concentrating on the A-Story) this is where the B-Story pays off big-time.

The B-Story

The B-Story is all about—is essentially about—the protagonists inner change. There’s something she is blind to about herself (with Shrek, it was that he was lonely and needed to let people in; both literally (into his swamp) and figuratively.)

The B-Story Hooks Into The A-Story

Here, at the final All Hope Is Lost point, at the very end of this cataclysmic try-fail cycle, we need the scales to fall from the protagonist’s eyes and for her to see things in a new way.

This often leads to the protagonist discovering what I think of as the ‘good trick.’ Since she is no longer deceiving herself, she sees what was right under her nose the whole time! (Or, at least, in a bolt of inspiration thinks of the problem in a new way and devises a new plan.)

Or, perhaps, now she sees the truth about herself, and this epiphany, this revelation, heals her inner wound.

Obviously, what happens now will depend on your story. Sometimes the new plan quickly leads to the final confrontation between the protagonist and antagonist, sometimes not. If not, perhaps the group of adventurers needs to re-assemble—or at least the core group. Perhaps one or two of the protagonist’s allies go off on their own mini-quest. If so, these quests will be very short and the focus will still be on the protagonist and her final approach.

I’ll talk about the Final Conflict—the climax of the story—in the next post.

An Example of the All Hope Is Lost Try-Fail Cycles: Edge of Tomorrow

Spoilers ahead! If you haven’t yet watched “Edge of Tomorrow” I would advise you to stop reading now and watch it. It was, hands down, my favorite action flick of 2014. If you haven’t watched it and don’t plan to, here’s a summary of the movie.

Here are what I see as that story’s “All Hope Is Lost” sequences.

1. (Major Setback) Try --> Obstacle --> Fail 

The Major Setback occurs when Cage goes off on his own to confront the Omega (if you haven’t seen the movie, the Omega is the Big Bad and must be killed). At least, that was Cage’s plan. The obstacle was that ... surprise! ... the Omega wasn’t there. Instead of battling the Omega, Cage was ambushed by a couple of mimics who tried their best to kill him permanently. 

Cage escapes, but his failure to find the Omega knocks him and his allies back to square one. He now has no idea how he’s going to locate the Omega. And if he can’t locate the Omega he can’t kill the Omega. And if he doesn’t kill the Omega that will mean curtains for humanity. 

Things are bad.

2. New Plan --> Try --> Obstacle --> *Fail*

One of Cage’s allies tells him about a device that can be used to locate the position of the Omega. The problem is it’s in General Brigham’s office, and the general isn’t about to give it to Cage. Still, what other choice is there? Cage tries to convince the General of the truth of his story. At first it seems he has succeeded. The General gives cage the artifact, but that turns out to be a ruse and Cage and his ally must flee for their lives. While fleeing, Cage uses the device to locate the Omega. 

Unfortunately, Cage is wounded and taken to a hospital where he is given a blood transfusion. As a result, he can’t reset the day anymore. That was the only edge Cage had, that was his superpower.

Things are very bad.

3. New Plan --> Try --> !!!!!**FAIL**!!!!!

Cage comes up with a new plan, it’s the only option left. He convinces his squad to go with him to attack the Omega. After suffering heavy losses—his entire team has died—Cage swims toward the Omega intending to plant an explosive device on it. 

Unfortunately, before he can do this, a Mimic swims up behind him and thrusts one of it’s tentacles through Cage’s chest. Cage lets go of the explosive which drifts down toward the Omega, getting caught up in the thing’s gills. Still, this means nothing. Cage has failed. He didn’t arm the explosive charge before it drifted away. 

Cage has lost, finally, totally, completely. He is moments from death. The woman he loves is dead. All his allies are dead. His plans have failed. Humanity is about to be driven extinct and the Earth stripped of its resources. 

This is the All Is Lost beat. 

A moment before Cage dies he opens his hand revealing several trigger pins and we realize that he has armed the explosive, after all. Cage smiles in triumph and the next moment we see the Omega explode. Cage has won.

All Hope Is Lost: Summary

“Edge of Tomorrow” is just one example of how the All Hope Is Lost sequences were handled (though I think it’s an especially good example), but each story is different. For instance, there don’t always have to be three beats in this sequence. Also, the first beat doesn’t have to be the Major Setback. 

There is no one way of doing this, just like there’s no one right way of telling a story. (“He slept and then she slept,” is a story, though not a riveting one.) 

That’s it for today! Next time we’ll finish up this series and examine the Story Climax. Till then, happy writing, and thanks for reading.

(This blog post was first published on karenwoodward.org under the title: A Three Act Story Structure: Act Three.)

Photo credit: Original photo: "Get Off My Lawn!" by JD Hancock under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0. Photo altered by Karen Woodward.

The Second Half of Act Two: A Story Structure In Three Acts (Part 3 of 5)

For the past two posts I’ve been stepping through what I’m calling The Three Act Structure. (Which is slightly misleading since there really is no one three act structure, but I’ve discussed that in my first two posts, so, moving on ...)

First post: A Story Structure In Three Acts

Second post: A Story Structure In Three Acts: Act Two

Today I’m going to talk about the second half of Act Two, including the Midpoint and Major Setback. In the next post I’ll conclude this series by discussing Act Three. 

Act Two: The Midpoint

As I mentioned in the last post, the protagonist and her allies will often have to journey to the place where the protagonist will confront—or at least make some sort of contact with—the Big Bad. 

Often, though, this contact isn’t of the up-close and personal variety. The protagonist can be tricked and, rather than tackling the Big Bad, is ambushed. 

(Spoiler alert!) At the Midpoint, Cage in “Edge of Tomorrow” thinks he will confront the Omega, the Big Bad, but instead is ambushed by mimics (one could argue that this is actually the first setback in the sequence of setbacks that leads to the dark moment of the soul moment, but it seems more like a delayed Midpoint to me). 

In “Die Hard” John McClane talks to the Big Bad (Hans Gruber) on the telephone. The contest is of wits and John McClane comes away with a better understanding of the situation.

Of course, there are lots movies that have a good old fashioned, no-holds-barred, fight between the protagonist and the Big Bad—or at least the minions of the Big Bad. Often, the spectacular and satisfying part of the midpoint comes before the confrontation with the antagonist. Generally the confrontation between the protagonist and antagonist is less than spectacular.

After all, if the protagonist confronts and defeats the antagonist at the midpoint then, since the antagonist is the force preventing the protagonist from attaining her story goal, the story would be over. 

The Protagonist Goes From Passive To Active

Although it’s a generalization, I’ve found that, before the midpoint, protagonists are often more led by their circumstances—reacting rather than acting—while after the midpoint they are more active. After the midpoint, rather than reacting to the actions of the antagonist they actively pursue the antagonist and his minions.

For example, at the midpoint in “Edge of Tomorrow” Cage turns the corner from frightened newbie to battle-hardened warrior.

A New Understanding

At the Midpoint the protagonist’s understanding of the Special World undergoes a sea change. She understands the antagonist’s goal, his powers, in a new way. Generally this understanding, this lifting of the veil of ignorance, extends to the very nature of the Special World, it’s dangers and potential. The protagonist now has a much better, though likely still imperfect, understanding of how things are done in this strange new place that is fast becoming home. 

For example, in “Edge of Tomorrow” when Cage goes to confront the Omega on his own, he learns that the visions that drew him there were a trap. He and his allies are, in many ways, back at square one. 

Act Two: Part Two (60%)

Regrouping

After the confrontation at the midpoint the protagonist will regroup with her allies. This could be as simple as getting back in touch through the telephone or they could physically meet to reassess the situation and decide where to go from here. If there is a celebration then it’s likely going to be the last feel good moment before the end of the book. 

Use this moment to show the protagonist and the other characters reacting to what’s happening. (This is a sequel.) Highlight disagreements among the group, disagreements that could drive the adventurers apart, handicapping the hero and perhaps even leading one of her allies to betray him.

The Protagonist’s Reaction To The Revelation At The Midpoint: Bigger Stakes

Even though the protagonist has survived her confrontation at the midpoint, she has learned that her assumptions were almost completely wrong. As a result, the old stakes no longer apply. The true stakes, she now knows, are much, much, bigger. 

The protagonist holds firm. There’s a chance. One slim chance. Still, the protagonist hasn’t lost hope. She believes they can do it. (The protagonist might have to be helped into this place of hope by one or more of her allies. If there is a romance, the romantic interest could play a role.)

Act Two: End of Part Two: The Major Setback (75%)

The protagonist and her allies make a plan, they’re going to attempt to achieve the story goal, whatever the cost. Since this point in the story is called the Major Setback you can guess that things aren’t going to work out well; they’re going to fail and fail big. Further, the failure, though not a surprise in itself, should come in a way the audience won’t foresee. Though, looking back, it should make perfect sense.

Before the Major Setback there’s going to be a planning and ‘suiting up’ scene. (After all, your readers need to be clear about what the plan is and all the ways it can go wrong!) 

Further, before the protagonist and her allies go into danger, before they engage with the enemy, we need to spell out the stakes. (Of course, when things go south and the stakes get cashed out, the consequences of failure are going to be worse, much worse, than we thought they would be. I’ll talk more about this in my next post.)

Once the stakes are clear and the plan has been spelled out, the protagonist and her allies—or, often, just the protagonist—travel to the place of confrontation. (BTW, the plan could be as minimal as: Let’s go in, kick ass, get what we came for and leave.) This is similar to what we did before the midpoint, only now the stakes are much bigger and the chance of success much smaller. 

Exactly how the protagonist’s attempt to achieve the story goal fails is, of course, up to you. Often, the protagonist is counting on something or someone. For whatever reason—the person was captured, killed or injured, they turned traitor, or whatever—this person doesn’t come through. Whatever the critical something is, it will fail, and it will fail in a way the protagonist couldn’t have anticipated. (e.g., Cypher in “The Matrix”) 

That’s it! In the next post I’ll conclude this series by looking at Act Three and discussing the All Hope Is Lost moment (or, rather, culminating series of crises that bring the protagonist to her darkest hour) as well as the most exciting scene of the story: The Climax.

Thanks for reading!

Photo credit: Original photo: "This Is The Construct" by JD Hancock under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0. Alterations by Karen Woodward.

A Story Structure In Three Acts: Act Two

In my Last post, I examined Act One of the three act structure. Today, let’s look at Act Two. But, before we get to that, please keep in mind this is only one version. This is how I’ve come to see it. Doubtless, other people have their own way. Use whatever works for you.

I don’t think I’ve read or watched any story that incorporates each and every one of the points I’m discussing. But most genre stories have this basic skeleton: 

1. Call to Adventure (~10%): the protagonist accepts the story goal.

2. First Plot Point (~25%): the protagonist is Locked Into the adventure and enters the Special World.

3. The Midpoint (~50%): Complications and Higher Stakes, confrontation with the antagonist, new information.

4. Major Setback (~75%): Leads to the All Is Lost or Dark Night of the Soul moment.

5. The Climax (~95%): The showdown between the protagonist and the antagonist. The Story Question is answered.

Last time, we talked about the protagonist’s Call to Adventure and her entry into the Special World. Today, I’m going to talk about the first half of Act Two.

Act Two (25%)

As we saw, at the end of Act One the protagonist leaves the Ordinary World, leaves her familiar surroundings, and travels to the Special World of the adventure. We now come to Act Two and The Lock-In.

Plot Point One: The Lock-In

The idea or concept of a plot point was introduced by Syd Field in his eminently readable book, “Screenplay.” It’s the idea of a significant event, a complication, that spins the action of the story around in another direction. There are only two plot points, one at the end of Act One (The Lock-In) and another at the end of Act Two (The Major Setback).  

This complication has the effect of locking the protagonist into her quest. One of my favorite examples of this occurs in the Matrix when Morpheus gives Neo a choice: take the red pill and learn the truth he has been searching for all his life, the truth about the Matrix, or take the blue pill and continue life as before. Whichever choice Neo makes, there’s no going back.  

Act Two: Part One

I think of the Special World of the Adventure as being radically different from the Ordinary World the protagonist has just left. Metaphorically, it’s inside out and upside down (Kansas vs the Land of Oz). In this new environment, the protagonist’s strengths are now weaknesses and what were her weaknesses turn out to be strengths. Also, since the protagonist is radically unfamiliar with the rules of the special world, she doesn’t know how to behave and often acts like a fish out of water (e.g., Luke Skywalker in the Mos Eisley Cantina).

There’s a bit of mirroring here. Many of the things we said of the Ordinary World are also true of the Special World. For instance, the protagonist will often meet new friends as well as make new enemies. 

(Though I’m not going to say much about it, the B-Story often starts now and will involve these new acquaintances. To read more about the A- and B-Story’s I recommend Steven Pressfield’s article: The “A” Story and the “B” Story.)

Another similarity between the Ordinary World and the Special World is that, on entering the Special World, the protagonist will have an initial goal, one that will soon take on new dimensions.

Tests & Trials | Fun & Games

As soon as the protagonist enters the Special World she will begin a series of Tests and Trials, mini adventures which highlight the strangeness of the Special World. Because her strengths are now weaknesses, and vice versa, she will fail quite a lot and in ways she couldn’t have foreseen. 

As the protagonist goes through her Tests and Trials she’ll often receive aid and advice from her new friends and be hindered by her new enemies.

Tests and Trials are often also a time of Fun and Games, a time of bonding through adversity. Through the period of Tests and Trials it may seem as though the protagonist looses sight of their story goal (and that’s fine, as long as the writer hasn’t). This is a time of bonding and—for the writer—of character building.

Often, at the tail end of Tests and Trials the protagonist has her first big success. For the first time she triumphs over her tormenters. There’s a brief celebration then, suddenly, the Big Bad rears his head.

Pinch Point One

Though not every story has pinch points, there are often two such points in a story. Pinch points bring the focus back onto the antagonist and his goal. We are once again reminded of the stakes and of how truly awful this could turn out for the protagonist and her allies.

The first pinch point ends the Tests and Trials as well as the Fun and Games; it reminds the hero why he is in the Special World.

The Plan

As a response to the protagonist’s increased awareness of the danger she and her allies are in, as well as the ticking clock that the antagonist’s appearance has either set off or reminded us of, the protagonist and her allies devise a plan to press through and achieve the story goal. 

(By the way, the pinch point doesn’t have to involve the antagonist directly, it could feature a minion of the antagonist, or perhaps simply show us the destruction the antagonist is capable of.)

The antagonist and her allies come up with a plan, a way to end the antagonist’s tyranny and achieve the story goal. Sure, the protagonist hasn’t done all that well yet in the Special World, but she has no choice but to continue, not if she wishes to achieve her goal and save both herself and those important to her.

At this point there’s often a group moment, perhaps even a romantic interlude between the protagonist and someone special. This is a time of bonding before the group makes the dangerous journey to the place of confrontation.

That’s what I’ll talk about next time! Till then, good writing and thanks for reading.

(This post was first published on karenwoodward.org as: A Story Structure In Three Acts: Act Two.)

Photo credit: Original photo: "Catwoman Light" by JD Hancock under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0. Photo altered by Karen Woodward.

A Story Structure In Three Acts

I’ve just finished a string of posts on the topic of critical reading (Writing A Critique: Reading Critically). While I was writing that series I got to thinking (again!) about the structure of genre stories.

Genre Stories

There are so many genres and sub-genres, the mind boggles at the thought of listing them all. But I wondered: What are the top-level genres? 

I don’t think there’s one canonical list of top-level genres. For example, some lists have thrillers as a sub-genre of crime while others hold that they are a genre all their own. It varies depending on the person who draws up the list as well as when it’s drawn up.

Here are what I think of as the top-level genre:

Action, Comedy, Family, Horror, Romance, Sport, War, Adventure, Crime, Fantasy, Mystery, Science Fiction, Thriller, Western. 

All of these have sub-genre. For example, in the romance genre we find: Historical romance, contemporary romance, regency romance, time travel romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, spicy romance, and I’m sure there are many, many, more. 

Each genre and sub-genre will have it’s own particular structure, it’s own conventions. Ideally, any post on story structure would look in some detail at each genre noting the unique aspects of each.

I’m not going to do that here. Though, at various times, I have discussed the genre requirements of mystery and horror, and I have puzzled over the essential difference between mysteries and thrillers.

So, rather than look at how each of these genre differs from every other—I’ll leave that for you—I’ll examine what they each have in common.

The Three Act Structure

What I’m calling the Three Act Structure forms the structural skeleton of the overwhelming majority of genre stories. 

But, honestly, I think that with a few minor adjustments we could just as easily think of this structure as the Four Act Structure. Simply treat the first and second halves of Act Two as acts unto themselves, rather than as two halves of a whole. (See: A Four Act Structure) 

Act One: The Ordinary World

I think that the beginning of a story is the most complicated. It’s where we set everything up. It’s a bit like dominoes. You set them up in a certain way, in certain patterns, and then let them fall. Or like train tracks. You set the tracks up in a certain way, a certain configuration, and then release the train. Or, to completely change metaphors, if we plant an acorn an oak will grow. Not a willow or a birch. An oak. 

That’s like a story. In the beginning we introduce the protagonist and show you her strengths and weaknesses, her deepest desires as well as her scars. Then we put her through the fires of adversity. By no means are her actions predetermined, but we are giving the story a definite direction. We’re giving the reader certain expectations. 

And that all happens in the first few pages!

Introduce The Protagonist Early And In Action

We’re often admonished to introduce the protagonist at the earliest possible moment—on the first page if not the first line. And it’s excellent advice. After all, the protagonist is who we want our readers to bond with, to care about and identify with. 

Further, how we introduce the protagonist is important. We should, we’re told, introduce her in action (see: Jim Butcher’s Livejournal). This puzzled me at first. Why? I wondered. What’s so great about action? But action, generally, implies a goal. A temporary one, sure, but a goal nonetheless. 

A baker, red in the face, is running out the door of his shop. Why? Well, he’s running after a shoplifter, or the shipment he’s just received is for the wrong thing, and he wants to grab the delivery people before they drive off. Or ... well, you get the idea. 

Action implies a goal, it makes the reader ask: why. And that’s a powerful hook. Further, we can see (show vs tell) that the goal is important to the protagonist in that moment. 

(Note: The protagonist doesn’t have to be tackling shoplifters! As long as they’re doing something: stuffing envelopes, chatting with a friend or lamenting the number of calories in a Bavarian Creme Donut.)

But we’re not done. The action should also tell the reader something important, something significant,∂ about the protagonist. I won’t ramble on about tags and traits in this post (I’ve written about them here and here) but the action the protagonist takes at the beginning of the story should tell us something significant about them, about the character’s essence.

And all right at the beginning of the story! 

Once all that is established I think stories are much easier to write, so I think the extra effort at the beginning is worth it—not to mention that it will increase the chances a reader will want to keep reading.

Introduce Your Cast of Characters

In the remainder of Act One we introduce all the significant characters. Anyone, that is, whose goals are important to the protagonist achieving her goal. 

It will occasionally happen that a significant character will be introduced in the first part of Act Two. In this case, it’s a good idea to, if possible, foreshadow the arrival of the character in Act One. (But, that said, do whatever works for the story.)

Call to Adventure

Also in Act One, the protagonist accepts the Call to Adventure and takes on the challenge that will occupy her till the Final Confrontation at the end of the story. Let’s call this goal her story goal. This goal defines the protagonist’s arc and becomes the story’s backbone, tying all the other character arcs to itself. (Example: Shrek)

The protagonist doesn’t always accept the Call to Adventure. Often she rejects the Call and must be talked into it, often by a mentor. If a mentor is involved they may give the protagonist something that will aid her on her journey. For example, in Star Wars IV, Obi-Wan Kenobi gives Luke his father’s lightsaber.

Next time I’ll talk about Act Two. Thanks for reading!

Update: This post turned into a five part series. Here are links to the rest of the posts:

1. A Story Structure in Three Acts
2. A Story Structure in Three Acts: Act Two
3. A Story Structure In Three Acts: The Second Half of Act Two
4. A Three Act Story Structure: Act Three
5. A Three Act Story Structure: The Final Conflict

Photo credit: "The Counter-Claus Caper 2014" by JD Hancock under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0. (I have altered the photo somewhat.)

How I Write A Critique

The Critique

To recap: There are two parts or stages to writing a critique. The first part—what I’ve been talking about the past few posts (see here, here and here)—is all about studying it, reading it critically.

Today I’m going to concentrate on taking the information we’ve collected through a critical reading of the story and arranging it, writing it up and presenting our views, our opinions, to the writer.

After I finish taking all these notes, after I finish asking myself all these questions about the text I’m reading, I’ll end up with rather a long document. I do not pass along all this information along to the writer! For one thing, it would overwhelm them.

The Audience for a Critique

Let’s step back a moment and talk about the tone of a critique. 

When writing a critique, I think it’s important to ask oneself the question: What sort of a story is this and, given this, what sort of critique would the author appreciate?

In a way, critiquing is no different than any other kind of writing, it’s just that with a critique your audience has been whittled down to one. In this sense a critique is very personal. It is like a letter, a passing of thoughts and feelings between two people.

One thing I attempt to always keep in mind is that, really, I (as the critiquer) have it easy in this exchange. I’m not exposed. It’s the writer who has, metaphorically speaking, just stripped themselves naked.

In this sort of situation the writer is often going to be sensitive—especially if they’re new or if this is your first time critiquing their work. (Often it is helpful if you can chat with the writer beforehand and find out what kind of critique they are looking for.)

Critique vs Review

One thing I want to make clear from the outset is that a critique—at least, how I use the term—is a very different creature from a review.

A review, first of all, is primarily for potential readers of the story. A critique, as I’ve said above, is only for one person: the writer of the story.

Although a review may be read by the author of the work in question, it isn’t written for the author, it is written for folks who are wondering whether they would enjoy reading the story. As such, the reviewer has a responsibility to—if I may put it like this—call it as they see it. They have zero obligation to think of the authors feelings. 

In what follows I’m writing about a critique, not a review. I’m going to focus on writing a critique a writer would like to get. Such a critique, IMHO, is tactful and presents both praise and criticisms as opinions as opposed to the universal voice of truth. After all, the only way one’s observations will do the writer any good is if they are accepted, and no one is likely to accept a truth offered in an insulting manner. 

Okay, enough preliminaries!

The Anatomy of a Critique

Just as there is no right way to write a story there is no one right way to write a critique. What I’m going to share with you is how I do things. That said, I haven’t yet gotten into any fist-fights with writers. So! Onward.

Begin with a general impression.

It depends upon the depth of my critique, but I’ll usually (critically) read the story through once and then open with an overall, general, impression. If, overall, I loved the story—if I thought it was a good read—I’ll tell the writer this. 

Even if the story wasn’t to my liking, I’ll find something positive to say. Perhaps I liked the dialogue of one (or more) of the characters, perhaps one of the descriptions was particularly vivid, perhaps one or more of the try-fail cycles were clever. Perhaps I liked how the stakes built throughout the story. Perhaps I liked the overall structure of the story. Perhaps I found one or more of the characters interesting. 

(Of course liking is not required when it comes to characters. For instance, I thought Andrew Scott’s portrayal of Moriarty on the TV series “Sherlock” was wonderful. Brilliant! But I didn’t like the character.)

For myself, when I can’t find anything laudatory about a story after a first pass, I look deeper. There’s always something, even if it is simply the writer’s enthusiasm. That said—and this has never yet happened—if I really can find nothing to put in the “I liked this!” column, I wouldn’t send the writer my critique.

The Body of a Critique

As I said, I’ll begin the critique with my general, overall, take on the story. I’ll begin by drawing attention to something I liked and then give a succinct one line summary of how I felt about the story as a whole. After that I’ll present a ...

Line by Line Critique

As I read through the story I’ll comment on parts I thought were exceptionally well done or, depending on the genre, I’ll mention what a certain clue makes me think about how the story will turn out. It depends on how in-depth the critique is going to be. If a friend wants a quick evaluation and his/her manuscript is pretty clean (no awkward bits, etc.), I’ll often skip this step.

I will also flag any text that struck me as awkward. If I didn’t understand something because the sentence was mangled or because the idea the sentence expressed didn’t seem to fit with what came before, I’ll indicate this.

Generally speaking, I’ll flag sections of the text:

- that I liked, 

- that seemed awkward or confusing, as well as 

- places where I lost interest. 

The End of A Critique

I’ll close a critique with a more general analysis of the story. I’ll mention details of scenes or characters, or perhaps of the general structure, that didn’t (or did!) work for me. 

- Were there inconsistencies in characterization? Was one character’s hair red in one scene and black in another? 

- Were any of the characters underdeveloped or boring?

- Were the character’s goals clear? Were the stakes clear?

And so on. (Since I’ve explored these questions in my previous posts—see the links I gave in the first paragraph of this article—I won’t repeat them here.)

I think the number one thing to keep in mind is what the writer was trying to do. Were they attempting to write a genre piece? If so, then it’s both appropriate and helpful to point out if and where the story departed from what a reader of that genre would expect. 

For instance, a murder mystery that doesn’t unmask the culprit at the end would generate quite a bit of ire on the part of mystery buffs. Also, if the story deviates from something like the three act structure—and this negatively affects the story—it might be something to mention.

End Thoughts

I always open a critique with something positive and close with something positive. 

Beyond that, I usually try and focus on three things I thought the writer did well and three things I thought could, perhaps, be improved upon. Or, if I am writing a very short critique, I will confine myself to giving one thing I thought the writer did well and one thing I thought could use improvement. 

In this series I’ve written exclusively about genre stories. But, often, a writer just wants to write a story. They don’t have anything particular in mind and they aren’t planning on publishing anything. They wrote their tale for their own edification and no one other than their family and friends will ever see it. 

In this case there are no rules. What this person has written is a work of art (which isn’t to say anything about the skill with which the story was rendered). If I were asked to critique a story like this I would talk about what thoughts and feelings the language evoked in me; I would talk about whether I found the ending satisfying, and so on. 

That’s it! I hope you found something I’ve rambled on about useful. In any case, thanks for reading.

Question: How do you write a critique? Do you have a tip to pass along? 

This blog post, How I Write A Critique, first appeared on KarenWoodward.org.

Photo credit: Wikipedia.com.

Reading Critically: Try-Fail Cycles (Part 3 of 3)

Today I’m going to finish up the critical reading portion of these posts. We’ll finish examining the anatomy of a scene by taking a look at try-fail cycles. Then we’ll look at an alternative to try-fail cycles. Finally, we’ll take the briefest of peeks at backstory and setting. And that’s it! 

The first post in this series: Reading Critically

The second post in this series: Reading Scenes Critically

In my next post I’ll talk about how to write a useful critique that a writer would like to receive.

Onward!

Scene Level Analysis: Try-Fail Cycles

I had this part of my post written and then, yesterday, came across a talk Jim Butcher gave in 2013 for the Space City Con. (part 1 is here, part 2 is here.) JB talks for less than half an hour at the beginning of each part, the rest is Q & A. Part 1 is about scenes, part 2, sequels. It’s great stuff, I highly recommend it. 

One thing JB talks about, and something you’ll come across in almost every scene—at least in genre novels—is the try-fail cycle. After all, it would be pretty boring for readers if the protagonist had a goal, there was some sort of opposition to this goal and then the protagonist either gave up or achieved the goal. 

At the beginning of the cycle, the protagonist tries to surmount the obstacle. Usually, her first attempt fails, as does the second. The third will either fail completely, partially succeed or completely succeed. But, whatever the outcome, the third attempt should be different. (Heidi Tighe has written a wonderful blog post on this, so—if you’d like to read about a great example of try-fail cycles from Breaking Bad—go check out her post: Four Elements of a Try-Fail Cycle.)

But that leaves us with a question. At the very end of the scene—that very last try—should the protagonist succeed or fail? Actually, there are four possibilities to choose from:

a. Total Failure: Does the protagonist achieve their scene goal? No!

This is a great way to end a scene! In the sequel we would then cash out the stakes and show the negative consequences for both the hero and those who were important to her. Then she would have to scrape herself off the floor (perhaps with the help of friends and allies), formulate a new plan and try again.

One of the most common pieces of advice offered to writers is to throw as much trouble as possible at the protagonist—and then triple it! Why? Because the way the protagonist reacts to adversity will show us who she is. It will skin her like an onion, showing readers the layers of her personality. It will (changing metaphors) whittle her down to her essence. Want to know who a person is? What they’re really like? Look at how they preform under pressure, when everything is going wrong. 

b. Total Failure with complications: Does the protagonist achieve her goal? No! AND there is a messy complication.

Everything we’ve said about (a) holds true here, but we pile even more trouble on the hero. Not only did his final attempt fail, but now it will be more difficult for him to reach his goal.

c. Success: Yes! The protagonist achieves her goal.

The hero achieves her scene goal. Often when this happens (unless it is the final scene in the book) it turns out that achieving the scene goal doesn’t get her closer to her story goal—although she had every reason to think it would!

For example, let’s say our protagonist found a way to overcome her allergy to the rejuvenating cream (this continues my example from last time). At the end of the scene her skin glows with youthful vitality. In the next scene, when she gets to the audition, she discovers that the modeling agency wants a more mature looking model, so her youthful glow actually works against her. Once again, the goal of her securing a modeling contract is in jeopardy AND now she has next to no time to fix matters, thus ratcheting up the tension.

d. Partial Success: Yes! The protagonist achieves her goal, BUT there is a messy complication.

The hero achieves part of her goal. She achieves something but also experiences a disaster. 

This can work fine as well. After all, it makes sense that a price must be paid for success. It makes sense that one can’t get something without first giving up something. I’ve written two articles on this, if you’d like to read more about try-fail cycles:

Try-Fail Cycles And The Gap

Making A Scene: Using Conflicts And Setbacks To Create Narrative Drive

Questions to think about when reading critically:

- How does the main character of the scene attempt to surmount each obstacle put in front of her?

- Do the stakes build throughout the scene?

- Does the character’s success or failure connect up to the scene goal?

Questions to think about when writing a critique:

- Not all scenes have try-fail cycles, but if a scene does, was each iteration clear? By which I mean, was it clear what the obstacle was, how the character tried to overcome it, why they failed, why they tried again (as well as why they tried again the way they did), and so on.

- I mentioned this before, but I think it bears repeating: Is there a clear resolution to the scene as a whole? At the end of the scene is it clear whether the character has attained their scene goal? (Note: Some scenes can end on a cliffhanger. This occurs when a scene ends just before we know the answer to the scene question. Of course that’s fine. Everything will be cashed out, it’s just that the cashing out will be delayed.)

- Is it clear how the scene goal connects to the story goal?

- When the character doesn’t achieve her goal, are the stakes worse than she thought? (They don’t always have to be, but the stakes should gradually increase throughout the story.)

Alternatives To Try-Fail Cycles

The try-fail cycle isn’t all there is. As Orson Scott Card points out, there are other ways of progressing through a scene. (See: Uncle Orson's Writing Class: Novel Length: August 2, 2000.)

a. The Conflicting Objectives Cycle.

Conflicting objectives are “Things that are worth doing, that need doing, which sidetrack the characters and distract them from their quest.”

b. The ‘This Can’t Happen!’ Trick

 OSC writes: “Then there's the This Can't Happen trick (Gandalf dies?) that ‘changes everything’ and causes the group to reconfigure (again, some of them being distracted as they go off on sub-quests).”

c. Unequal Commitments

Not every character is going to be equally committed to the story goal. And that’s as it should be. “[Y]ou need characters who are not equally committed to the main quest (think Boromir) or who have other quests that only they can perform (think Aragorn).”

d. The Protagonist’s Conflicting Emotions About The Quest

Even the protagonist is going to, occasionally, have his doubts. He’s going to have “conflicting feelings about having undertaken the quest in the first place, and about putting other people's lives at risk. (I'll go off by myself, says Frodo, because this way I'm only bringing destruction down on myself [Actually, this was deeply stupid, since the friends were his main hope of avoiding being killed by the ring-wraiths; but Tolkien made it all come out anyway <grin>].)”

Alternatives to try fail cycles: something to keep in mind:

OSC cautions that the thing to keep in mind, here, is that whatever you do has to advance the story (in other words, whatever you do “to make us care more or worry more about the characters”) it has to arise “out of who they are” and it must eventually transform them.

Other Elements: Backstory

The goal in introducing backstory is to:

a. Give backstory only when the reader needs to learn the backstory. The trick here is to make the reader want to learn the backstory.

b. Give as little backstory as possible. That is, give only as much as will make the scene intelligible. Ruthlessly cut the excess.

- Is this true of the book/manuscript you’re reading? Are you showered with details you don’t need to know or, alternatively, do you often feel that a character’s behavior lacks motivation?

Other Elements: Setting

Is the setting interesting? Memorable? Is it unusual, exciting, exotic?

A Bird’s Eye View: How Do The Scenes Fit Together?

After I finish reading a story, I’ll spread my notes out on my desk (this includes my notes on each scene). Then I’ll look at how the scenes fit together.

- Do the stakes continually increase from scene to scene?

- Are the stakes interesting? The stakes will be interesting if they connect to a character’s deepest desires as well as their emotional scars/vulnerabilities. This works especially well if the character’s vulnerabilities are similar to the readers vulnerabilities.

- Are the scene goals connected to the story goal? (I mentioned this earlier, but I thought I’d list it here as well since it is very important.)

That’s it for reading critically! Next time I’ll talk about how to write a critique a writer would be happy to receive.

Photo credit: Karen Woodward.

Reading Scenes Critically

Today I continue my two part series on reading critically. I had hoped to wrap things up today, but that’s not going to happen! Last time we talked about two levels of textual analysis, macro and micro: the story and the scene. Today let’s continue discussing scenes and what to look for. Let’s dive in.

Scene Level Analysis: Character’s Goals

Each significant character in a scene will have a goal and each goal will have stakes attached. That is, each scene will make clear what will happen if the protagonist achieves her goal and what will happen if she doesn’t.

Further, these consequences should be real-world consequences—concrete rather than abstract. We need to see and feel what happens to the character as a result of her emotional reactions, her decisions and actions. Also, these consequences shouldn’t just affect the protagonist, they should also affect those she cares about, those she feels responsible for.  

(Of course, in the beginning of the story the consequences may only affect the protagonist. After all, if everyone she ever cared about is affected right at the beginning there’s nowhere to go! The stakes should grow over the course of a story, so it’s fine to start small.)

Note regarding scenes and sequels:

In this article I’m concentrating on scenes rather than sequels but since I just discussed stakes let me make one comment. Often one uses a sequel to show the stakes being cashed out, to show how both the protagonist’s life, and possibly the lives of those he cares about, have been changed. (For more on sequels see: The Importance of Sequels and The Structure of Sequels.)

Scene Level Analysis: Character’s Motivation

Imagine that a character, Xan, is in a rowboat fleeing from a man-eating shark. He’s rowing to the shore, really putting his back into it, sweat soaking his clothes. In this scenario the shark (and accompanying bloody loss of life) is Xan’s motivation to reach his goal, which is the shore.

- In your scene, what motivates the main character’s action?

- What is the main character’s goal? Where are they headed?

- What obstacle (or obstacles) oppose the main character achieving his/her goal?

In my example, Xan was fatigued, worn out. That’s an obstacle to him reaching the shore. Or we could make the obstacle a bit more solid and have him hit a reef, one that shatters his rowboat. The possibilities are only limited by one’s imagination. 

Scene Level Analysis: The Antagonistic force

The antagonistic force is something that conflicts with, or opposes, the protagonist. This force can be a person, a place, a thing, an idea, or mental state. Further, if the antagonistic force is a person, then that persons’ goal must oppose the protagonist’s story goal such that if the protagonist achieves her goal then the antagonist cannot, and vice versa. 

In the example, above, the antagonistic force was a shark. Why? Because it opposed Xan’s goal of reaching the shore and because their goals were mutually exclusive. Xan’s fatigue and the reef are obstacles. Even though they weren’t placed there by the shark, they aided it in foiling the protagonist’s plans.

Obstacle vs Antagonist. One might wonder what makes one thing an obstacle and another an antagonist. It’s a good question; I think it largely depends on the context. In my example, above, if there had been no shark I might have thought of the reef as an antagonistic force rather than simply an obstacle. To my mind, antagonists tend to have agency, or we tend to attribute agency to them. Obstacles tend to be physical and specific. 

The Local Antagonistic Force

The Big Bad of a story is the protagonist’s ultimate opposition, but the Big Bad won’t be in every scene. However, the protagonist’s attempt to achieve his goal should be opposed in every scene. 

Let’s call this scene-specific opposition the local antagonistic force. For example, the protagonist could want to try out the latest in anti-aging creams so she can win a modeling contract (the story goal), but she can’t because she’s allergic. If she puts the cream on, her skin will become red and scaly. 

In this example her allergy is the (local) antagonistic force that prevents her from achieving her goal. The Big Bad of the story, on the other hand, could be another model she’s competing with for the modeling contract, one who will do whatever it takes to succeed. 

Questions To Ask When Reading A Scene Critically

Drawing upon all that we’ve said, here are a few questions to ask when reading a scene critically:

- Who is the main character of the scene?

- What is the main character’s goal?

- What are the stakes? What will happen if the main character achieves his/her goal? What will happen if he/she doesn’t?

- What is the antagonistic force in this scene? That is, who or what prevents the main character of the scene from achieving his/her goal?

- What are the concrete obstacles put in the protagonist’s way?

- How does the protagonist try to defeat these obstacles?

- Is the protagonist successful?

Here are a few points to consider when formulating a critique:

- Was it clear who the main character was?

- Was the main character’s goal clear?

- Were the stakes clear?

- Was it clear who or what was the local antagonistic force? That is, who or what opposed the main character in the achievement of his/her goal?

- Was it clear what obstacles were thrown in the character’s way and was it clear how these items (events, etc.) could prevent the main character of achieving his/her scene goal?

- Was it clear how the character dealt with these obstacles? Did he/she triumph against them or did they defeat him/her? (I’ll talk more about this next time.)

- At the end of the scene, was it clear whether he/she achieved his/her scene goal or not?

A Caveat

I’ll talk more about this when I discuss how to sift through this mass of information and use it to write a critique. But I want to stress that the questions I’ve shared, above, are only meant as an aid in reading critically. 

There are no rules. Stories don’t have to have try-fail cycles. Characters don’t have to have clear-cut goals. Actually, let me take that back. There are two hard-and-fast rules when it comes to writing: To be a writer, you must read. To be a writer, you must write. And that’s it.

With that out of the way, let me say that the stories I had in mind while writing these articles were genre stories. Generally speaking, readers have more expectations when it comes to genre stories than they do for literary ones (though I admit that the dividing line between genre and literature can be blurry at times).

What I’m saying is: Please do feel free to put everything I’ve written aside, read a story, and respond from your gut. Your heart. I’ve written these posts because ... well, I know that, for myself, I often would appreciate a framework. 

This is especially so when I feel that there’s something wrong with the story but I just can’t put my finger on it. In those cases, sometimes it helps to do a deep reading of the material while keeping questions—questions such as the ones I’ve raised here—in mind.

That’s it for today! I had hoped to finish talking about critical reading today, but I’d like to cover try-fail cycles. Also, I want to touch on both backstory and setting. I’ll pick this up again on Wednesday. 

Till then, just write!

Photo credit: I took this picture!